


Igniting Embers

by palettesofrenaissance



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, WandaVision (TV)
Genre: Agent Jimmy Woo, Canon Compliant, F/M, Hopeful Ending, I wish and hope this couple gets more love!, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Pre-Relationship, Protective Jimmy Woo, Secret Crush, it is about the potential!, so here is another contribution, tagging both relationships because this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:21:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29855262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palettesofrenaissance/pseuds/palettesofrenaissance
Summary: The sunrise is still stretching its warm fingers across the land when The Hex comes down. and Monica returns, glowing in more ways than one. The first person to greet her, really greet her, is Jimmy, sighing a heavy “Thank God” while gathering her in a very emotional, very non-professional, very not-just-coworkers hug.“I couldn’t lose you. I just couldn’t.”There is heavy meaning behind those words, and paired with his carefully rising gaze until he’s holding hers, once more there’s a shiver that runs down her body.
Relationships: Monica Rambeau & Jimmy Woo, Monica Rambeau/Jimmy Woo
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	Igniting Embers

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. _hello! I have not yet watched the last episode of season one but I am too intrigued by the potential of this couple that I couldn't care to wait before finishing this and posting it._
> 
> 2\. _I am still wanting to get these two down perfectly and get a feel of their relationship, so here is a little budding 'friends to lovers' as a treat!_
> 
> 3\. _the original prompt: “could you, for once, think about everyone you’re gonna leave behind if--/when/ you finally get yourself killed? ” with Monica x Jimmy please? I’m so glad I’m not the only one who ships them_
> 
> 4\. _(hopefully I will get another one out sometime soon!)_
> 
> xoxox

Jimmy clutches harder to the communicator in his hand, telling himself to act—to repeat the directive calmly, _calmer_ than he has been—to show he’s put together more than he feels—but the world seemed to be dissolving around him. Everything is coming apart into incomprehensible patches of distorted of reality and amalgamations and sensations and _static red_. There’s so much red. There’s always so much red; there’s been an increasing amount across The Hex.

Since the anomaly appeared—which has been _endearingly_ nickname by Dr. Lewis—The Hex has been a thorn in everyone’s side since stepping foot on its surrounding grounds. It’s curiosity has been tested, experimented on, observed, and its victims sampled when they’ve reemerged.

Before, it wasn’t known how or _if_ a second or third re-entry into The Hex is possible—if one could even _survive_ it. But all the same, Jimmy’s pulse is pounding inside his chest and he controls his voice so it doesn’t waver this time from too much emotion—he’s _recaptured_ his control over it—just as his thumb’s reflex clicks the communicator and speaks into it. Flanked by scientists and fellow agents, he leans forward against a desk’s top to steady. His legs momentarily feel weak. He exhales a deep breath of relief viewing a television screen. His gut swirls with unidentified, no, _denied_ sentiments—he’ll say it’s relief and thrill. He’ll think something else.

All agents are surrounded by useless screens conveying reception static or the electric waves or magnetic/metaphysical readings of things he isn’t educated in—all except the little garage-sale outdated television currently broadcasting the latest “episode” of Wanda Maximoff’s fantasy town, Eastview.

Currently on screen is Monica Rambeau, the invisible camera panning to her standing across the magicked woman whose hands are risen, fingertips glowing a threatening scarlet red.

Jimmy’s own fingers squeeze around the thick plastic of the communicator; it doesn’t crack or break from his force. He speaks into it once more: “ _Captain Rambeau, do you copy?_ ”

The television’s signal begins to waver; Monica raises her chin courageously—and there’s just the hissing and the whipping of the wind outside due to an oncoming rainstorm, and the stiff, rough collar of his starched-pressed dress shirt rubbing along the back of his neck, and the depth of the lines he can _feel_ developing between his eyebrows, and his hands are shaking, his blood roaring in his ears, and his pulse—

His pulse stops, stutters, when the television loses its feed.

_Monica, do you copy?_

* * *

(He ignores the glances he receives about this informality.)

* * *

The sunrise is still stretching its warm fingers across the land when The Hex comes down. Or, as it’s _assumed_ at first, because Monica returns, glowing in more ways than one.

Agents slowly rise from their seats in before monitors and blink out of their stupor while outside watching the scene.

The first person to greet her, _really_ greet her, is Jimmy, sighing a heavy “Thank God” while gathering her in a very emotional, very non-professional, very not-just-coworkers hug. It lasts longer than a second, and just a moment more she would have broken out of her shock to return it. But by that time, he’s already distanced to be at arm’s length and turned the professionalism back on. Gazing into her eyes, he’s visibly relieved at first, but then stunned... and then frowning, almost worrying.

“Your eyes...”

* * *

They’re packing equipment side-by-side the next time they have an extended moment of privacy to themselves. One of the topics that had been discussed with other agents were the witnesses to Monica’s first push through The Hex’s wall; some called it astounding while others thought it groundbreaking. Upon her return, she’s called miraculous and awestriking. During Monica’s reportings while inside The Hex, she’d glance over to watch Jimmy having leaned to the side with folded arms and a crossed expression throughout.

(“Your eyes,” she remembers him gasp. “What happened to you in there?” he added, Monica unable to shake the _genuine concern_ in his tone that left her a tad shaken.)

She remembers his comments from earlier, so his remarks now, in this empty room isn’t all that unexpected. Monica finishes chuckling with another agents who gave compliments to Monica for her bravery, and Monica smiled while trying to decide how she should respond. She’s packed three things before Jimmy finally speaks up after an afternoon of silence.

“Next time you think of doing something spontaneous like that, it’d be best if you ran it by someone first.”

Rightfully, Monica pauses her packing and looks up. Turning to look at Jimmy, she’s squinting, mouth hanging open as she thinks about her next words. “I wasn’t aware that I needed _permission_.”

He slowly packs an expensive pen into a protective case. He’s still frowning. “You do if you’re going to put your life in danger like that again. There needs to be an agreement met for the precautions—”

After dealing with Hayward and the superpowered women and all the oddities of the day, she currently has short patience. Her dark eyes gain a tint of electric blue as she clenches the leather jacket she’s just folded. “I don’t need this from you, _especially_. Not now, not—”

“It’s protocol.”

“ _Screw_ protocol.” It comes out before she thinks, before she can re-examine her words. As a way to try and cover herself, she adds, growing heated with irritation, “What I did happened to help us _all_ , probably even helped save _lives_. So what for _one_ spontaneous moment.”

“Thank you for your service in what you did but that doesn’t negate this. But, _could you_ , for once, think about everyone you’re gonna leave behind if— _when_ you finally get yourself killed?”

She pauses again, turning to face him completely. “ _Excuse me?”_

And then he remembers glimpsing her feats through the television screen and seeming the glowing blue of her eyes and Jimmy backs down. Forces himself to sigh before speaking. “For a while, we didn’t know if you were okay—”

She tilts her head to the side, clearly angered.

Jimmy continues. “We couldn’t see you—”

“But I’m _here now_.”

She’s riled from stress—as is he, but their emotions quickly fizzle out like steam. He no longer looks sullen, it transforming to exhaustion and worry. Seeing this, she sighs heavily, putting away the leather jacket and gathers a badge she left.

The small room is quiet for a beat, for two, for three.

“We thought you were _dead_.”

“Well I’m not.” She wears a tight-lipped smile and opens her arms out to her sides before letting them fall to her sides and walking around the table to hand him a belonging. “We’re all good, so we can all go back home and pretend—”

“ _I_ thought _you_ were _dead_ , Monica! And I just can’t _pretend_ that—”

She stops.

After spending weeks that feel like months together on base, they have gotten on a first-name-basis in passing and in privacy, but it’s the _intensity_ that makes Monica freeze and not react when he steps nearer to grip her shoulders as if wanting to shake the meaning into her.

“I can’t just pretend,” he continues slowly, his own shoulders hunching, glancing towards his feet, “that I’m _not okay_ with that. All of this has been really, really out of this world—”

“But we’re still on Earth,” she attempts to joke and tries to grin, doing her best to not think about the trail of heat his hands leave behind as they slide down to her elbows.

“I couldn’t lose you. I just couldn’t.” There is heavy meaning behind those words, and paired with his carefully rising gaze until he’s holding hers, once more there’s a shiver that runs down her body.

Though she gives another little tilt of her head and tries to chuckle it off, it is very clear in her mannerisms that Monica begins to _blush_. There’s a cautious lilt hanging on the tip of her question, a purposely meaningful cadence at its hook, a wide-eyed, inquizzing and hopefulness in her eyes: “What are you getting at, James...?”

* * *

(Jimmy ignores the glances he receives about he and Monica addressing each other as equals rather than under the shroud of professionalism. As he gazes into Monica’s mesmerizing dark andalusite-brown eyes, his palms begin to quiver and he cares _a lot_ about what she’ll think.)

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed this, pretty please: share your thoughts<3
> 
> (This story is also posted to my blog.)


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